Wicked as a Christmas Fruitcake (Paranormal in Manhattan Mystery: A Cozy Mystery on Kindle Unlimited Book 10)

by Lotta Smith

  “Seriously? If that’s the case, Rick practically saved you from misery!” Jackie bounced. “Except you’re always accusing him of killing your career in medicine.”

  “I know.” I shrugged. “As much I hated the reality of being a doctor, I was dying to become one. Look, it’s complicated. It’s like the four stages of the grieving process. When it turned out that I couldn’t become a fully licensed doctor, I was so shocked and saddened, and then came the anger, followed by the bargaining process. And voila, now I’ve finally reached the phase where I’ve accepted everything that’s happened to my whacked-up medical career that didn’t even begin.”

  “Of course, you should be able to accept anything when you’re married to Rick Rowling.” The ghost of a drag queen snorted. “Still, now I know why you used to be so snappy at Rick in the beginning. You were scared of falling for him, right?”

  “I don’t know… maybe? Maybe not. Hey, don’t tell Rick that I was half glad that he saved me from med-school hell,” I said, blushing. Not that Rick could hear ghosts talking, but I had a hunch that he was growing his sixth sense these days. “Still, I think he was steering me to be tart with him.”

  “Hmm, you have a point. Giving a moniker of ‘Grim Reaper’ to a lady wasn’t nice.” Jackie chuckled.

  “Hello? You’re not supposed to utter the G-word!” I opened my mouth in the shape of an O in mock shock.

  My name is Amanda Rowling, née Meyer. I’m married to Rick Rowling, who recruited me from med school to the FBI’s New York City headquarters a few years back following some unfortunate incidents that stigmatized me to be called the Grim Reaper—I’d prefer not to talk about it in detail. Anyway, I started working with him in a section called the Paranormal Cases Division.

  Yup, you heard me right. The FBI, notorious for their hardheaded approach to criminals, actually has a division with such an unrealistic—bordering on absurd—name like Paranormal Cases Division.

  As his only colleague and subordinate, we went through a lot of cases that involved ghosts and a smorgasbord of arguments. In my defense, I didn’t see or hear dead people before I started the FBI job, but somehow I developed the skill to communicate with dead people soon after joining. And before I was able to fully come to terms with working with Rick and being able to talk to dead people, I started living with him at his lavish condo on Fifth Avenue, and now I am married to him.

  I couldn’t agree more strongly to the saying that “life is full of unexpected surprises.” Mine was beyond surprising and, indeed, I still found myself wondering if I was just having a long daydream or if it was my real life.

  Rick, my husband—oh, did I mention that I can’t help but turn really pink in the face and ears whenever I refer to him as my husband?—happens to be the only heir of a security-based conglomerate called USCAB, short for United States Cover All Bases, and he’s since left the FBI and joined his family company as the COO.

  After becoming Mrs. Rowling, I tried to be a stay-at-home housewife for the most part, but with a wicked twist of fate, I ended up joining USCAB as the chief—and to be precise, the only—agent in their Paranormal Cases Division. USCAB gave me a desk, computer, and phone at the corner of Rick’s office, and going to the office in the morning with him had become my new routine.

  Lately, my division, dealing with ghosts and other paranormal activities, had been somewhat slow. Rick said I could take some early Christmas vacation using my accumulated paid leave days, and I gladly accepted his offer, savoring my alone time at home the past few days. After all, I had to attend a party or two at night, dressed to the nines.

  Unlike menacing ghosts bothering humans, living humans in Manhattan were having the busiest time of the year with charity balls, auctions, fundraisers, and whatever excuses to gather, spend a ton of money, and pretend to be loving and super-generous when all they really cared about was themselves.

  As for me, I’d been quite busy at these functions trying so hard not to yawn. Thanks to being acquainted with Karen Rosenberg, the successor of the huge consumer goods company Rose and Roses and one of the most respected socialites in the city’s upper-crust society, I was finally beginning to learn the art of surviving the nights without making a total idiot of myself, or beating myself up and wondering why I wasn’t accepted as one of them.

  Karen had taught me never to bother with trying to decipher those people gathering at the parties, uttering incoherent phrases, pretending like only the ones in their class were eligible to understand their conversation. According to her, when they were mumbling what sounded like a mass of meaningless words and phrases, they were indeed truly meaningless.

  “You don’t try to decipher the deep insight of background music playing at the café you’ve randomly paid a visit to, do you? Basically, their conversation is meaningless until they specifically use ‘hot words,’ which are the words and phrases they actually want you to understand,” she told me. “Don’t worry, you’ll know when the hot words are said. After all, these words are pronounced so clearly that you’d find yourself wondering if you’re talking to the same person who kept on mumbling as if she has a speech impediment.”

  Since then, I’d been sticking to her words of wisdom, and I was becoming accustomed to women in the Upper East trash-talking me. They didn’t notice me at all when I was just cohabiting with Rick, but the moment he announced his engagement to me, they started hating me just like the moment Donald Trump declared he was running for president. Rick Rowling happened to be voted as one of the most eligible bachelors in Manhattan quite often, and basically every single and divorced woman was aiming to be Mrs. Rowling. As a result, I became as popular as a leper. Still, nowadays the poll against yours truly had been gradually declining as three more of the most eligible bachelors had tied the knot with women out of their league, driving the women’s focus to hating the new girls on the block.

  On that particular day, we had no party or fundraiser to attend, so I decided to spend the afternoon preparing an intimate dinner for two, with gingerbread cookies topped with vanilla ice cream as dessert. The spicy cookies were our favorite holiday season treat, and oh boy, baking was so fun!

  Taking in the scent of sweet spices, I muttered, “I love Christmas.”

  “Me too!” Jackie chimed in, waving both hands. “It’s my favorite season of the year!” As she danced, I noticed she was sporting a new ring on her right hand.

  “Jackie, your ring! Can I take a look at it more closely?” I pointed at the ring I’d never seen before.

  “Oh, this one?” She stopped dancing and showed me the ring with a large heart-shaped stone, which looked something like pink diamond.

  “Wow… this is so beautiful. I didn’t know you could materialize new accessories.”

  “Actually, it’s not something I’ve made.” She shook her head, but for some reason, she looked genuinely proud.

  “Then what?” I asked. “Oh… let me guess, you’re smiling. It’s something your ghostly beau gifted you as an early Christmas present, right?”

  “No.” She broke into a wide grin. “Actually, I’ve been attending night school to pursue postmortem criminal psychology. And guess what? I’ve just completed all the courses and passed the exams to be a crisis intervention counseling specialist, level one.”

  “Seriously? Isn’t that fabulous,” I exclaimed, although I wasn’t familiar with the professional certificates in the world of dead people. Whatever it was, Jackie’s newly acquired certification sounded like a really big achievement, and I was genuinely happy for her.

  “It is!” Her grin grew wider. “It’s about the same as a crisis intervention counselor in the world of living humans. Your line of work often involves talking to newly dead people, including murder victims, and people like them are often panicky, angry, and loathsome, bordering on evil, right? And that’s the part where you can fully appreciate my expertise. Now I’m certified to calm the wild spirits and milk information from them more effectively than ever, and you c
an bridge between us and Rick and the guys with law enforcement. As a team, we can totally nail it. I mean, we’ll be the best paranormal team in the whole new level!”

  My jaw dropped. My first reaction was surprise, as I had no idea about Jackie studying while I was sleeping, and then came this fuzzy feeling to have learned that my flamboyant guardian ghost took my career so seriously. And the next thing, I was so touched that I felt almost tearful. “Oh my God… Jackie, you’re so kind! Look, you have no idea how thrilled I am about your accomplishment, newly acquired expertise, and… everything! Really, it’s totally like an early Christmas for me. And oh, where are my manners? I haven’t said congratulations, right? So, congrats!”

  With my arms wide open, I gave her a big hug and an air kiss. Of course, I couldn’t touch her as she’s a ghost and I’m human, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

  “Thank you so much!” She moved her arms to look like she was hugging me back. “I have a hunch that Rick has something special planned for Christmas,” she whispered into my ear.

  “Like what?” I asked, feeling all giddy as she mentioned “something special.”

  “Like a romantic getaway just for the two of you, topped with another special Christmas gift for you,” Jackie said in a sultry tone as she glanced at the clover-shaped pink sapphire ring on my finger. Okay, from hygienic perspectives, I should have removed it, but I felt happy whenever I wore the surprise Christmas gift from Rick the previous year. “Celebrating the anniversary of getting intimate. Remember last Christmas Eve, when the two of you finally got to spend the first-ever romantic night without an interruption by murderers, murder victims, or ghosts of murder victims, after living together for months?”

  “Right, I remember…” Closing my eyes and recalling that time, I let out a sigh of happiness. Oh my God, I was beyond happy. Back then, we’d been living together for a while, but every time there was potential for intimacy, someone was killed, totally steering Rick into murder-investigation mode. But on that special night, no murder had happened at the posh hotel and spa in Tarrytown, and Rick said the big L-word for the first time!

  Considering he went so far as tying the knot with me, I was somewhat confident that he really meant it.

  While I was savoring the amazing memory, and the sweet and spicy aroma of holiday cookies, the phone beeped.

  “Hello?” I answered, producing the tone that was intended to sound warm and indifferent at the same time. Out of habit, I didn’t say my name when I answered my private line. After all, the person at the other end could be a swindler ready to con you into paying a ton of money for some pyramid scheme, or some pervert attempting to whisper something vulgar into your ear and absolutely enjoy giving the person at the other end hives. Besides, I didn’t check the caller ID before picking up the call.

  “Hi, Mandy,” said Rick. “How are you, darling?”

  “I’m great, absolutely enjoying baking gingerbread cookies,” I replied with a big grin. I was totally loving that he called me “darling.”

  “Wow, I can’t wait to eat them.” He chuckled, but I caught a slight tension in his tone.

  “Hmm… I have a hunch that he has something he’s not thrilled about telling you,” Jackie analyzed, totally eavesdropping our conversation.

  Moving my hand to shush her away, I went on. “Hey, Rick, if you come home early, the cookies could still be warm.” I was deliberately producing a chipper tone.

  “Are they already in the oven?” he asked.

  “They will be in a minute or so. Why?”

  “Just asking. Look, I was thinking about taking baking as a new hobby.”

  “Wow, that’s a news flash,” I commented, not buying his words at all.

  “Will they be baked nicely in ten minutes or so?”

  “No, I need more time,” I replied. “The cookies will be done in ten minutes, but they need to stand until they’re firm enough to move to a wire rack. Also, there’s this process called icing. So perhaps they’ll be done nicely in thirty minutes or so.”

  “Thirty minutes, hmm…” He crossed his arms—not that we were having a video chat, but I could almost see that with my mind’s eyes. “Okay then. Can you put the dough in the freezer?” he said.

  “Excuse—”

  Before I finished my sentence, he went on. “And speaking of baking, I need you to come to a certain bakery in Midtown West. It’s about work. I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes at home. Okay?”

  When I said, “Okay,” the line was already dead.

  CHAPTER 2

  Precisely fifteen minutes later, my phone beeped again.

  “Are you ready? Come down to the parking lot,” Rick said, and I went down on the elevator to hop into the black four-seater Ferrari. “Thanks for coming, Mandy.” The moment I sat on the passenger seat, he cupped my face and kissed me on the lips, messing up my lipstick.

  “Ooh…” Jackie swooned on the back seat. She was covering her eyes with both hands, but as always, she kept her fingers loose so she could peek between them.

  “So, what’s the deal?” I asked him, reapplying my lipstick. Assuming from the fact that I was called in the middle of my vacation, he needed my special skill: talking to dead people.

  “There’s this huge client of USCAB, and she wants to talk to you. According to the preliminary info, there’s a bakery having what could be a paranormal issue, and she needs your help,” he replied, revving the engine.

  “And she believes it’s caused by some ghost, right?”

  “Right.” He nodded. “Of course, humans, such as some local punks, could be responsible. Anyway, my old man wants you to take a look at the bakery to see if it’s really a poltergeist or something else.”

  “Oh, that’s very smart of Dan,” Jackie commented. “If it turns out to be something else, USCAB’s tech unit can pay a visit at the shop to decipher the cause of the issues. It could be a messy electrical cord or some cracked wall doing the trick.”

  “Okay.” I nodded. “Hey, would I be considered terribly selfish if I wish it to be something else?”

  “No way. Actually, I was thinking the same thing.” As he shook his head, the corner of his lips quirked up into a lopsided grin. “Hey, have you heard about Madame Roloff?”

  “You mean the queen of the condotel?” I tilted my head to the side, searching my mind for info about the people whose companies had been listed in Fortune 500.

  “What? Who? As in the lady with the big hat?” Jackie chimed in. “I love her hats! She has so many hats they could fill up a huge house, and all of them are decorated with stuff like flowers made of silk, with gold, silver, and precious gem charms. In my opinion, she’s a drag queen deep inside.”

  “A drag queen? Madame Roloff?” I parroted Jackie, who suddenly put on a huge hat decorated with what seemed to be real flowers.

  “A drag queen?” Rick cocked his head to the side. “Hmm, you have a point, but don’t mention it in front of her.”

  “No, I didn’t say that. It’s Jackie saying Madame Roloff must be a drag queen at heart,” I clarified.

  “Uh-huh. Okay.” He nodded while Jackie bounced in the back seat—she didn’t strap on her seat belt, mostly because she was already dead and couldn’t get any deader—exclaiming, “Guess what? I’m so totally looking forward to seeing her!”

  According to the information written in financial magazines, she was the widow of a banker turned real estate mogul, and as soon as she took over the company following his death, she made that already hugely successful local real estate company into something way bigger than that. Sporting a huge hat that could qualify as something appropriate to attend Marie Antoinette’s tea party, the caricatured cartoon of her head was made into the Roloff Company’s logo and had been crowned on the lux hotels, condos, and condotels all over the world.

  And gossip papers said she was more than willing to have the image of her head featured on every building the Roloff Company leased to huge businesses, such as the national b
anks, global insurance companies, and huge IT companies, but her kids talked her out of the idea, saying the companies leasing the Roloff buildings would appreciate it more if they were offered the liberty to feature their own logo instead.

  “So, she’s our client. Gosh, that’s a really huge one.” I took a deep breath, my anticipation peppered with nerves.

  “Exactly. She’s one of our biggest clients, and at the same time the hugest potential client.” Rick winked.

  “I know. Hey, why didn’t you tell me about meeting her on the phone? I could have put on something nicer.” I pouted, looking at my casual long-sleeve turquoise sweater dress.

  “You look fine, hon,” he said, pulling me close and planting a light peck on my cheek while driving.

  “Hey, keep your attention to the front and side so as not to smash into pedestrians or other vehicles, okay?”

  “It’s okay. Usually other vehicles on the road avoid my car.” He shrugged. “As for your choice of attire, it’s more than appropriate. We’re visiting a relatively laid-back area, and you can’t appear in front of our potential client wearing something nicer than her.”

  “Oh really?” I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t know the Roloff Company did bakeries.”

  “I don’t think it’s the Roloff’s bakery.” Rick squinted. “If it were theirs, it would be located in some super-fancy hotel or a fashion building with condos on the upper floors. Actually, I have a hunch it’s more like a job interview rather than an assignment. She’s currently shopping for a security company catering to the new brand of Roloff condotels opening across North America. And this particular new Roloff brand is plotting to expand throughout the world. So basically, it’s a huge business deal.”

  * * *

  Due to traffic, the Ferrari moved slowly across the road connecting the east side to the west side. The bakery named Charmed and Sprinkled was located in the district that was largely populated with historic buildings dotted with small and intimate mom-and-pop shops.